


Dear Noam Álvaro

by tinee



Category: Feverwake - Victoria Lee
Genre: And angsty, FUCK Lehrer, TEH spoilers, THIS IS DEPRESSING, after he sees them at the gala, angsty dara, god i hate lehrer, have i mentioned that i hate lehrer, i add the relationship tag regretfully, just dara being depressing, kind of letter format, really just a vent fic tbh, shit gets real deep, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinee/pseuds/tinee
Summary: Dear Noam,I want to be mad at you.Maybe if I was angry, I wouldn’t feel so empty. Maybe if I hated you, I wouldn’t hate myself so much.I want to hate you.
Relationships: Noam Álvaro/Calix Lehrer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	Dear Noam Álvaro

**Author's Note:**

> song for this fic:  
> when i was your man - bruno marz.

I want to be mad at you.

Maybe if I was angry, I wouldn’t feel so empty. Maybe if I hated you, I wouldn’t hate myself so much. 

I want to hate you. 

But there’s a part of me that says it’s not real, and that’s the part of me that won’t let me hate you. Because when I saw you with Lehrer—

Well.

I wanted it to be fake.

For the past six months, I’d close my eyes, and your face would be all I’d see. Messy hair, perfect smile. Smooth skin tanned from all the times you’d walk through the city instead of just taking a car like the rest of us. It made you feel like you were betraying your people, accepting small luxuries like free government transportation. I remember that. Remember you. That was one of my favorite things about you—you’d never turn your back on your roots, no matter what.

When I saw you that night, you looked different from that image that I remembered. You seemed… taller, somehow, even though you stood next to a giant. More refined. I hated it. 

I wish I could’ve been in your mind, just to know what you were thinking. To see if you were still the same person that you used to be, even if you looked like just another high society elitist. To see if you still had those selfless ideals that you used to hold onto so tightly. If you were the same Atlantian rebel that I knew. That I loved.

To see you with Lehrer was a knife in my still-beating heart. It was stepping on a shard of crystal from a whiskey glass that he shattered. It was drowning in a pool of sparkling diamonds, every edge catching on my skin and cutting deeper, deeper, deeper. It was bloodless wounds, nothing rushing in to shield the nerves from the pain. 

Please tell me it was fake. Tell me that it wasn’t you I saw there. Tell me it was just a dream, and I’m still sleeping in the bed next to you in the barracks. Tell me I’m still in the quarantine zone, and it was just another hallucination—I don’t care. Just tell me that it wasn’t real. 

I’d like to believe that you were under his influence, but the hollow ache in my heart says otherwise.

That look in your eyes, that sweet adoration when you looked at him? I remember it as clearly as I do everything else about you. It’s the way you looked at me six months ago. I used to be able to feel it in your thoughts, the way you would love in spite of yourself. I saw that look in your eyes and I prayed that it wasn’t real, that you were just faking it for his sake. But I don’t think anyone’s that good of an actor. Nobody could pretend that they loved that man. Not even you.

One thing I think Lehrer’s always wanted was control over emotions, yet it’s the one thing he’s never been able to achieve. If he wanted someone dead, he didn’t need to persuade them to jump. He could push them over the edge himself. But emotions? He can’t make people love him. He can’t make them look at him like you were the other night.

I can only imagine what lies he’s told you. 

What did he tell you? Did he promise that he’d help the Atlantian refugees living in the slums that you cared so much about? I remember seeing them in your thoughts at night. You felt so strongly about them. Are you still like that, or has Lehrer taken even that away? 

I almost asked if he promised you power, but you wouldn’t do that. The old you wouldn’t.

Every single part of me wants to be by your side again. 

But I screwed up. I know I did. I had my chance, and I blew it. I’m sorry. If I hadn’t gone, or if I had insisted you go with me, you wouldn’t be with him now. But if that had happened, at least one of us would be dead now. I don’t want that. Well, not for you.

At least now you look happy. I’m not sure if you could ever be happy with me. I’m too much of a mess. Healed scars that you can’t see anymore and an alcohol problem that won’t go away. Who could be happy with that?

I hope he gives you everything you want. I hope he makes you happy, even if he doesn’t deserve your happiness. I hope he treats you better than he treated me. I hope he buys you all the Bulgakov in the world—in the original Russian, too. I hope he debates Marxist Theory and Leninism with you for hours, because I know you always wanted someone to talk about that with. 

I hope he does all the things for you that I should’ve done while I still had the chance.

And when he shows his true colors, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces. I know I will. Even if it kills me, I will be there for you. Because I remember what it was like. Realizing how horrible of a person—if you can call him that—he is.

I wish I could find it in myself to be angry. Something inside me says that you should be able to get out of this, just like I did, but it’s not the same. I know. I don’t have any right to blame you, no matter how much I want to. It’s not your fault. It’s his.

I want to be mad at you. It’s so much easier to say I’m mad than to say I’m hurt.


End file.
